


Chains

by SeverinadeStrango



Category: Sengoku Basara
Genre: Akechi Mitsuhide is His Own Warning, Implied Sexual Content, Implied Torture, M/M, Masochism, S&M, implied plot, neglect kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-12 04:48:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16866436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeverinadeStrango/pseuds/SeverinadeStrango
Summary: He stayed.





	Chains

It could have been days since he’d last seen the sunlight, it could have been _months_ – surely it hadn’t been years, though. Akechi’s perception of time had been thoroughly skewed by the constant monotony that he’d been forced into, but he wasn’t yet _that_ unobservant. He counted the number of times that Matsunaga would return during the day, he kept track of the little glimpses of sunlight that sometimes managed to penetrate through the thick curtain. Oda Nobunaga was long since dead – and yet Akechi Mitsuhide still felt some sense of pride at the fact that _this_ was what made him so irreplaceable to that man.

Right now, it was almost the exact opposite of what he was so used to. Rather than being an asset of value, he was one object among many – almost easily overlooked, Matsunaga sometimes seemed to pay more attention to his other curios and would, if he deemed it amusing, often neglect the newest addition to his collection. It was not to be this way today, obviously – because Matsunaga was standing directly in front of him and holding his jaw in an iron grip, twisting this way and that – but he did not know which was better. The neglect, or the unyielding attention?

This was painful, Mitsuhide thought – and he could _only_ think, because the gag had been forced so tightly into his mouth that it was a wonder he could breathe at all – the bruises that Hisahide’s hands would leave on him were painful, just enough. They would serve their purpose and they would fade and maybe then in about twenty visits’ time a few more would be added but it didn’t burn, it didn’t sting as much as the knowledge that came with being let alone in the dark, arms chained together behind his back as he slowly became one of the many, many dust-gathering objects, his novelty long since worn off.

How strange, how _new_ how thrilling _painful_ and all while depriving him of the sting that he had grown so used to anticipating.

He’d sometimes wonder whether this was Matsunaga’s goal in the first place – the way his head would immediately shoot up whenever he heard those heavy footsteps outside the door, how he’d hold his breath when he turned his way, contemplating whether it was _worth_ his time to give him that small sliver of attention that Mitsuhide had learned to crave more than water or air itself. To break him, and shape him, and mold him – was that what he’d tried to do? 

But Akechi wouldn’t complain. All it took was a gentle tug on his chains, against the raw and broken skin underneath, and he remembered again why he stayed.


End file.
